Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 80.3: Breeds (3)

"Please take us to Jeju Island. Please!"

"We want to go to Jeju. Please, we’re begging you."

"If we can’t go to Jeju, we’ll starve to death. We’ve run out of food!"

"Are you really going to let us die?"

"If we die, we’ll come back as ghosts to haunt you!"

Jang’s kids were former street beggars, and their knack for pleading hadn’t dulled with time. Throughout the night, they rotated shifts on the walkie-talkie, imploring relentlessly.

Though it was still the dead of night, I contacted the researchers.

"We need to leave here as soon as possible. Have you heard from the main unit?"

After three attempts, I finally got through.

Jang Mok-hyun responded casually, yawning as though oblivious to my mounting frustration.

"Not yet. Why?"

A question crossed my mind:

Just how comfortable and carefree were the lives of these researchers?

Every time I visited their labs, they struck me as pre-apocalypse corporate slackers, but this was on another level.

They seemed entirely detached from the dangers of this wilderness.

"Can’t you hear the public frequency? The raider kids are still chattering about Jeju Island!"

"Oh, yeah. I hear them."

"Do you realize passing raiders or Legion members could hear that too?"

"That would be bad."

"This isn’t something to brush off. If we’re not going to shut those kids up, we need to leave immediately."

"Then how about this?"

Jang Mok-hyun proposed an idea.

"Let’s call the kids over."

I stared at the radio in disbelief, unsure what he was thinking.

"We’ll test them. If they show promise, we take them with us."

"And if they don’t?"

There was a pause before he answered.

"...We have a method in mind."

I had a vague understanding of what kind of place Woo Min-hee’s lab was.

The smell of alcohol, an unnaturally sterile atmosphere, dim lighting, and researchers bustling around in white coats, pretending to be busy.

But I’d never given much thought to the kind of people they were or how they thought.

When Jang Mok-hyun explained his plan, I studied him for the first time.

A man with an unremarkable, studious face—someone you’d expect to have graduated from a top university and secured a stable research job in the pre-apocalypse world.

That was likely the life he had planned for himself.

But when those plans were derailed, it wasn’t surprising he had twisted into something unrecognizable.

"Ta-da! A makeshift screening device!"

Jang’s “screening device,” designed with Jo Hyun-soo’s assistance, was shockingly simple.

It required a long, straight hallway, a robot armed with a 7.62mm machine gun, and a partition to obscure the robot.

Beaming like he had devised a groundbreaking invention, Jang explained his idea with the same cheerful demeanor he’d used with the chosen children earlier.

"When the kids arrive, we’ll hand them tickets. The ones who pass will move to this side, and the rest will stay in the hallway. Once the screening is complete, we press this button."

He demonstrated by pressing a remote. The murder robot’s sensors glowed red, emitting a chilling metallic sound as it powered up.

Jang turned to me with a bright smile.

"Well, what do you think, Hunter Park? Isn’t it efficient? We can identify potential Awakened candidates while removing societal trash in one fell swoop."

Comfort and luxury don’t preserve humanity.

These researchers were thoroughly broken—by both the war and its aftermath.

"Shall we call them over now?"

Jo Hyun-soo held the walkie-talkie, looking at me expectantly.

"..."

What could I even say?

"Isn’t this what you wanted, Hunter Park? To shut those kids up? If we don’t, the Legion might show up."

Jo urged me with a calm yet persuasive tone.

I sighed deeply before speaking.

"Leave the robot out of it."

"Excuse me?"

"Wait, what?"

Both Jang and Jo turned to me, stunned.

"They haven’t directly targeted us. Killing them based on suspicion alone is too much. What would the kids inside think if they saw that?"

Jang chuckled dismissively.

"Don’t worry about the kids. They won’t live long anyway..."

Jo smiled, offering a more measured response.

"The survival rate for auxiliary Awakened near rifts isn’t high. While the main Awakened recover, auxiliaries are deployed to neutralize rift waves."

That was a piece of information I hadn’t expected.

Suppressing my reaction, I pressed him further.

"What do you mean by that?"

"They’re like support beams in a coal mine. You use sturdy ones where needed, but when you run out, you make do with weaker ones. These kids are like those weaker beams—they just need to hold up a little. Their sacrifice is noble because if we close the Jeju rift, we can at least prevent South Korea’s total collapse."

Looking toward the room where the chosen kids were staying, Jo added with a pitying expression:

"They’re tragic, really. That’s why we try to treat them well while they’re here. We give them whatever they want—that’s why they had the walkie-talkie in the first place."

A year ago, the researchers wouldn’t have shared any of this with me.

Secrets are like that.

In a solid, future-proof organization, they stay buried. But in a crumbling, doomed one, secrets seep out like grease from a dented can of spam.

At least now I understood what they intended to do in Jeju.

"I’ll handle it. Don’t activate the robot."

Some lives are worth saving.

The old me wouldn’t have understood this decision, but I’ve changed. My convictions are firm.

Why? Because even on our forum, the empty spaces stand out so starkly.

Most of the usernames I once knew are gone, replaced by unfamiliar ones—or none at all.

If even they disappear, then what’s left?

The government still treats people as problems to manage, but the day will come when people become precious.

I don’t know when that day will arrive, but it’s not far off.

"Call the kids. I’ll take responsibility."

*

In the midst of a tense atmosphere, a group of ragged children appeared at the airfield.

Eight of them.

Their numbers had decreased. There used to be more of them, as far as I could recall.

Among them, the child with faintly glowing eyes—the one I remembered—was not present.

I tried not to dwell on it.

My eyes scanned their weapons.

The two largest boys in the group carried rifles.

Both were standard Korean military issue, but one had "살인자" (Killer) ostentatiously engraved on the stock in bold, garish characters. It was likely a weapon Jang had used in his younger days.

Standing at the entrance to the U.S. base, I waved at them.

A girl wearing a faded cartoon character shirt in the lead spotted me and waved back.

"Wait, aren’t you...?"

She recognized me.

"You’re the guy who brought booze that time, right?"

The kids trailed behind her, some marveling aloud as they caught sight of the plane.

"Whoa! It’s a real plane!"

"Are we flying this to Jeju?"

"I can’t wait to go!"

The pilots stood at the cargo bay entrance, handguns drawn, silently watching.

A few of the kids waved at them, but the sunglasses-wearing men didn’t respond.

In this peculiar silence, we arrived at the entrance to the bunker.

The dark, gaping hole seemed to yawn open before us.

"Inside, the researchers will assess your aptitude," I said.

"Aptitude?"

The girl who had often shouted obscenities over the walkie-talkie asked, her voice skeptical.

"Only kids with special abilities—the Awakened—can go to Jeju. You’ve heard the rumors about the Guard, right?"

"There’s no such thing," she shot back.

"There is. Just take the test."

The conversation seemed casual enough, but my focus stayed on the boys holding rifles.

They might open fire at any moment.

I couldn’t entirely blame them, though.

Fear drives people to cling to their weapons, whether they’re children or adults.

In some ways, I’d invited this danger on myself.

At the end of the hallway, the two researchers waited, expressionless.

Jang held the remote for the murder robot in his hand.

If anything went wrong, that robot would activate.

In this narrow hallway, it would be as effective—and as merciless—as death itself.

Just in case, I’d brought grenades, though I wasn’t sure if they’d reach in time. For all I knew, I’d be riddled with holes the moment I threw one.

A chalk line marked the testing area, the point agreed upon by Jang and me.

He signaled to me.

"No firearms past this point."

The boys hesitated.

I removed the magazine from my gun and placed the weapon on the ground.

Feeling the concealed pistol in my coat, I kept its presence in mind.

Reluctantly, the boys followed suit, ejecting their magazines and placing their rifles at their feet.

The most nerve-wracking moment passed surprisingly easily.

As soon as the weapons were disarmed, Jo Hyun-soo approached from the end of the corridor, holding sheets of black film.

She greeted the kids with a friendly smile and tone, like someone used to dealing with children.

"Hi, kids!"

"I’m Jo Hyun-soo, a researcher under the National Crisis Management Committee’s Awakened Aptitude Review Board. We’re going to run a simple test now."

She extended the sheets.

"Can you come up one by one?"

The test began.

Though the kids seemed hesitant, one by one, they complied.

The results weren’t looking good.

Not a single sheet showed signs of change; each remained stubbornly black.

Jo gave me a pointed look.

When I approached, she whispered, "Not a single one. Zero."

She sighed.

"They’re all mixed breeds—nothing pure among them."

The result was clear:

None of these children would be going to Jeju.

The burden now shifted back to me.

It was my job to send them away—to return these abandoned children, exposed to the horrors of violence and neglect, to their cold and filthy shelter.

"I’m really sorry," I began, looking at the children.

"None of you passed."

"Why not?"

The tallest girl asked, her voice tinged with defiance.

"Why can’t we go?"

In the past, I might have pointed my gun at them.

If they had been adults, I might have killed one or two to make my point before continuing the conversation.

"You failed the test," I said flatly.

"What kind of test is that? It’s just a black piece of paper!"

What could I even say to that?

Was violence the only way to handle this?

As I wrestled with how to proceed, a cold voice interrupted.

"It’s not just a black piece of paper."

The voice wasn’t mine.

It came from deep within the corridor, beyond Jang and the murder robot.

Standing at the doorway to the chosen children’s room was a figure I recognized immediately: the eldest daughter from the International Residence group.

"Dohui?"

Jang stared at her in shock.

Ignoring him, she walked past the robot and headed toward the raider kids.

Jang moved to stop her, but she fixed her gaze straight ahead and said firmly, "I’ll talk to them."

She approached the raider kids.

Tall, slender, and dressed in fine clothing, she stood before them—a stark contrast to the ragged, filthy, and skeletal figures of Jang’s children.

Though both groups were technically Korean youths, the difference was so vast it was as though they belonged to different worlds.

Like Jo had said before, it was like comparing "breeds."

The tall girl stopped in front of the frail girl who seemed to lead Jang’s group.

"Give me that sheet," she said, extending her hand.

"And who are you?" the raider girl shot back.

The emaciated girl’s face hardened with defiance.

I couldn’t tell whether it stemmed from jealousy, anger, or an extension of her fear.

“Give me the sheet. What? Are you scared it’ll show a different result than yours?”

The girl’s wavering gaze flickered to the eldest daughter’s ears, lined with piercings, and her neck, adorned with a vivid tattoo.

“Been living rough, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“What? Same age as me? Thought you were some old hag based on your face.”

The eldest daughter extended her hand, silently demanding the sheet.

Jo Hyun-soo hurriedly offered a fresh sheet, but the eldest daughter declined.

“No. They won’t believe it’s genuine. I’ll use the one she already bit into.”

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The emaciated girl scoffed.

“What middle school did you go to?”

“Daegyo.”

The girl sneered.

“Never heard of it. Trash neighborhood, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Unlike the emaciated girl, whose face was twisted with scorn and anger, the eldest daughter’s expression remained cold and unchanging.

The girl threw the sheet toward the eldest daughter, aiming it at her face.

Unfazed, the eldest caught it and pressed it to her lips.

A small but undeniable change appeared before us.

The sheet, seemingly stuck in permanent blackness, began to shift, lightening until it approached an almost pure white.

Pulling the sheet from her lips, the eldest daughter held it up for the emaciated girl to see.

“Satisfied?”

“...Get lost.”

Tears welled in the emaciated girl’s eyes, her face twisting into a grimace.

“Hey! Kill her!”

I had anticipated this and was already moving.

Before the boys could even fully react, I had reloaded and aimed my rifle, directing the muzzle at the boys reaching for their guns.

“Stay still.”

One boy, however, continued moving toward his weapon.

Bang!

The bullet struck the ground just in front of the rifle, ricocheting off.

“That’s not a warning,” I said.

The boy grinned defiantly and kept reaching.

Bang!

This time, I shot the weapon itself. The impact sent it tumbling, striking the boy’s ankle hard.

“Agh!”

I lunged forward, kicking him to the ground and slamming the butt of my rifle into him.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

“Agh! Stop! Stop!”

I didn’t enjoy hitting people—it didn’t suit my role. But I’d been trained for it.

How to attack, subdue, and inflict pain when necessary.

The crack of bone echoed faintly.

Fear has a way of taking root. The Chinese army had demonstrated that much to me.

The boy, battered but alive, collapsed to the ground, groaning in pain.

He wasn’t seriously injured—just enough to teach him a lesson.

It was his own fault. If it hadn’t been me, someone else would’ve put a bullet through his head.

The effect was immediate.

The tension in the air grew icy as frightened eyes locked on me.

“Push the weapons this way.”

The children obeyed, just as they had obeyed the raiders who once used them for begging and worse.

After securing their firearms, I turned to the emaciated girl, who seemed to be their leader.

“The test is over. Go back.”

“No.”

I raised my hand, and the girl instinctively squeezed her eyes shut.

“No... please...”

Tears spilled from her tightly shut eyes.

A sob broke through the silence as my hand, raised in feigned threat, slowly lowered.

Suddenly, the girl’s eyes snapped open, and she turned to Jo Hyun-soo.

“I studied abroad in America when I was a kid! I’m fluent in English! I’m an American citizen! I’m good at math! I went to the Junior Olympiad! I even placed!”

Jo looked at me and shook her head. Behind her, Jang Mok-hyun stifled a laugh.

“...”

Now I understood.

I understood why they had resorted to such extreme methods.

They must have witnessed scenes like this countless times.

Desperate children and parents, clinging to their pleas, over and over—hundreds, thousands of times.

That’s why they conceived the brutal, makeshift screening device.

I didn’t want to become like them.

I wanted to send these children away peacefully, quietly—even if it meant being called a hypocrite.

But the world doesn’t wait for idealism.

Two soldiers burst into the entrance, rifles at the ready.

They were pilots.

“Multiple drones spotted!”

The man wearing a lieutenant colonel’s insignia turned sharply to us.

“They’re hostile. The enemy is nearby!”